


Castor

by hikachu



Category: Gundam The Origin, Universal Century Gundam
Genre: M/M, Missing Scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-24
Updated: 2016-05-24
Packaged: 2018-06-10 12:15:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 908
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6956122
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hikachu/pseuds/hikachu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What was he so nervous for, could it be jealousy, or envy, after all Char looked the part of the leader far more than he ever did.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Castor

**Author's Note:**

  * For [diopan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/diopan/gifts).



> Written for my husband who loves this pairing and introduced me to Gundam!

After the last box had been unpacked, its contents moved and then set down with care as per his instructions (it was fine to have other cadets – classmates, not friends, he could admit that much to himself, now – do that for him; it was his right and his birthright to expect that much, as an injured man and a scion of the Zabi, respectively; it was, also, in other words, something he ought to demand in order to remind himself and everyone else just who Garma Zabi was exactly) and everyone left the room, Char announced, smiling his condescending smile, I do hope you'll forgive me if I take a nap before it's time to head out for dinner, your henchmen swarming in here like a colony of ants gave me a headache—and, boy, did they work hard!, just like ants, Char laughed. Garma had felt himself grow red, then, before the underlying taunt of: you sure worked them hard, young master!, yet he couldn't find it in himself to get angry at Char anymore because the jabs, he felt, now, were an essential part of their relationship: something he should expect and accept and even anticipate as a sign of Char's sincerity. A sign that they were equals, and he was cared for, genuinely.

Well?, Char said after a while, probably expecting – perhaps inviting – banter, and when Garma looked back at him without uttering a word, he laughed again, louder, throwing his head back, and at that moment Garma could see the shift of muscles and tendons across his neck, the bobbing of Char's Adam's apple under his skin, with a new, shocking sort of clarity.

The sight, for some reason, made his throat close up as if someone had stuffed it with cotton.

Char said something else which Garma couldn't make out, because his ears were filled with the noise of his own blood rushing madly. The tips of his fingers were ice cold while his skull felt as tough as it was about to implode. He nodded, dumbly, and Char climbed into bed, pulling the curtain closed. Later, he said from the other side, voice muffled yet clear (Char's voice always was; he always spoke like someone who had nothing to fear in the whole world); later, replied Garma, letting out a breath he didn't know he'd been holding.

There must be something wrong with me, he thought. What was he so nervous for, could it be jealousy, or envy, after all Char looked the part of the leader far more than he ever did, with his golden hair, the firm, sharp outline of his jaw, and yes, his neck, thick just enough to give off an impression of resilience and power, perfectly proportional to his broad shoulders and the rest of his frame. Without a doubt, Char was the kind of person that his siblings would have looked at as an equal or, at the very least, someone who should not be underestimated nor coddled.

Garma's chest ached: it felt as if his heart was trying to smash his rib cage, rip his chest open and jump out. Was this really what jealousy was supposed to feel like? Perhaps, it wouldn't have been wrong to say that he wanted all those things that made Char standout for himself, but there was something else, to that desire, that he couldn't put into words or even simply make out for himself just yet. The noise in his ears grew louder, like crashing waves under a stormy sky. Did everyone else live holding such painful feelings in their heart, day after day, as if it were no big deal? It was as amazing as it was depressing a perspective. Garma was ashamed. What did it say about his character, that he felt that way towards the one man he considered his true friend, what would Char think of him if he knew.

There was but one solution—The one thing Garma always did when he saw that what he had – who he was – was not enough for the name he carried, for the man he ought to be: keep quiet and work hard.

He turned to his desk, where the last of today's homework awaited him, and kept on studying until it was time to leave for the cafeteria.

Did you go for a jog, asked Char, then, sitting up on his bed. His hair was mussed, sticking up where it had been pressed against the pillow. Garma swallowed. Char laughed, your entire face is flushed. His eyes were a translucent blue, like ice.

Garma's hands twitched. He wished he could just put them over his face. Don't mock me, he spat out, instead. His chest was hurting in that mysterious way again.

Char put on his glasses, grinning. I would never, he said, hands up. Please, don't glare at me like that.

Garma looked away. Let's go, it's late.

At that, Char – bright, strong Char – followed behind him obediently, without a word, like a shadow, and that single thing made Garma's chest swell with pride as if he'd just been praised by one of the instructors in front of the other cadets. He sighed. His cheeks were warm, but he could feel his heartbeat finally beginning to slow down. It's alright, he thought, everything is as it should be, after all.

Still, that night, he dreamt blue, blue eyes staring at him in the dark.


End file.
